[Pft. Yeah, yeah. Keats has room in that long-term memory for two things: fairy tales and receipts and, unfortunately, the date Mettaton designated as his birthday doesn't fall into either one. He's not mad about it. If anything, it's cute.

...won't stop him from hanging it over his head every once in awhile, though.

Whatever. There's a hand touching his own and Mettaton hums as he twists his hand around to entwine their fingers. Oh, cupcake...] I'm teasing, Keats. We can take a walk with Annie, if you want. Watch some documentaries. [Ha.] I know there's a dusty old book somewhere you were dying to inflict on me. It can be anything.

Besides. If you don't think that, [he languidly runs two of his fingers up and down one of his boyfriend's. L-lewd...] isn't on my side of the table, you're mistaken. [Heh.

...oh!

Just as quickly as he switched from sweet to sexy, Mettaton switches back again. He leans in, eyes bright and cheery as he runs his fingers through Keats' hair.] Do you want to change?

[Honestly, it's barely a question. Ever since Keats realized his boyfriend found his true form handsome instead of petrifying, he'd been warming up to it little by little. ...in private, of course - some things will always make them cagey - but it makes the robot happy anyway. It's nice, being trusted with something so big.

Literally. The real Keats is a big man with a lot of teeth and hair and Mettaton likes having something to braid.]